


Close Your Eyes

by FuckinNameChoise



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:51:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuckinNameChoise/pseuds/FuckinNameChoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time an amateur musician and a librarian broke up in not so quite good terms. Now,10 years later, Sinclair Gold famous cello player will meet again with someone from his past. Will he be able to forgive and find happiness again? or will those 10 years stand on his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So after much thought i decided to make this fic a multi-chapter one… Here’s the prologue… umm i hope you like it. and tell me what you think

Sinclair Gold didn’t care much for parties, specially his after parties. He couldn’t understand why, but both his managers were fixed on throwing them after every opening show, in every goddamn a city, no matter that more often than not he didn’t show up, always making an excuse like being sick or ,better yet, having to take a girl 'home'. Tonight had been the opening show in the last city of his worldwide tour, and he had wanted to skip the celebration more than ever. There were too many old faces, each one of them holding a bad memory from his past. He hadn’t want to include Storybrooke on his tour, but both Jefferson and Victor had insist that he did, just like they had  _insist_ that he had to attend this damn party.

He was a man full of hate, he hated his mother for giving up on life and his father for leaving, hated his lameness and his greying hair, he hated his fucking body, and right now he hated  _this._ He hated being surrounded by what appeared to be amnesiac people congratulating him and telling him how happy they were to have him back on Storybrooke. They all seem to have forgotten how they used to treat him like a scoundrel, like he was no better than the dirt beneath their feet. He was only _nice_  to the people who hadn’t lived here back when he did, he was especially nice to the girl he was planning on taking back to the hotel.

If you could be able to see past her obvious lack of intelligence - _“I love how you play the violin” -“Dearie I play the cello” -“Isn’t it the same thing?”_ you have a pretty good fuck in front of you. She had red hair, blue eyes, good figure and a fucking nice pair of tits.

All in all Sinclair was still hopeful for a brighter evening that was until Jefferson appeared out of nowhere grinning like a maniac. “Gold there is someone you have to meet.”

“Dearie  _I_  don’t have to meet anyone” he spat, and then added with a meaningful glance towards…Ariel? “, besides I’m rather busy at the moment.”

“Well, why don’t you bring the lovely lady with you? “ Jefferson answered with a subtle roll of his eyes, knowing too well that there was no way in hell he would be able to separate Gold from his choice of the night. Honestly, couldn’t the man keep it in his pants for a full evening? It had been the same thing in New York, Atlanta, Las Vegas, Miami and… Well, the rest of the cities they had toured.

“This better be worth my time Hatter.” Gold growled,  turning towards the girl to ask her if she could be oh so gracious as to accompany him, Ariel answered with a very enthusiastic nod.

Jefferson guided them through the crowd towards the bar, where Gold could see Victor talking with a man. Sinclair murmured something in Ariel’s ear making her blush, earning herself a smirk from Gold. As they reached their destination the smirk fell from Gold’s face when he realized that there was someone standing next to the man talking with Victor, someone Gold was very familiar with.

There, clad in a golden dress, was Belle French.

All at once feelings he thought long forgotten came back to him with a force and with them, the memories too. 


	2. Second First Glance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but yesterday my internet decide to go partying and left me all alone. I hope you like this, and thank you so much for the wonderful comments! Please keep commenting, and tell me what you like and what you don't. If you want me to add something to the fic all you have to do is ask, and i'll try my best to comply.  
> Again thank you, and enjoy!

He should have turned around and left, or maybe pretend that his ankle was bothering him again (he hadn’t used that excuse in a while). He could have done lots of things, but keep walking shouldn’t have been one of them, go figure that this would be the time his courage makes an appearance.  As he got near, Belle’s features were easier to see, her bright blue eyes shining with mirth while she laughed at something Victor must have said, her beautiful hair tied in a ponytail with the curls cascading around her gorgeous neck, the smi...

“Gold, I would like to introduce you to Killian Jones and his fiancé, Belle French”, said Jefferson, interrupting his inner appreciation of Belle, and Gold didn’t know if he wanted to thank the man or throttle him. “Killian is the owner of Storybook’s only music studio.”

“Mr. Gold, I must say it is a real pleasure meeting you.” Killian said with a fake smile, offering his hand to Gold. When he realized he wasn’t going to receive an answer or a shake he pulled his hand back with a short chuckle - “I don’t know if you have met Belle before, it is my believe that she lived here back when you did.”

At the mention of her name, Belle finally looked up for the first time since Gold arrived. Her gaze followed the path of his body, from shoes to head. He was the epitome of elegant masculinity in a closely tailored licorice colored coat. Beneath that, he wore a white shirt with the top 2 buttons open. When her eyes met Gold’s, she had to bite back a gasp, where there used to be eyes full with warmth, now were eyes cold as ice. There was no gleam in them, no passion, they looked almost dead. And Belle knew, deep down, that she was the cause of the change in what used to be the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. She couldn’t handle the weight of his gaze, dropping  her sight down she blinked back tears of guilt.

“She doesn’t look familiar, so I don’t think I’ve met her before.” Gold said with a voice as cold as his eyes, not giving Killian a chance to respond. He turned towards Jefferson and put as much venom in his voice as he was able. - “Would you tell me why my presence was required here?”

“Well as I said before Killian is...” Gold stopped paying attention the minute Killian’s name was mentioned, instead he decided to play a little with Ariel while trying to stop thinking about Belle. Running his hand over the little bit of skin of her back left exposed by her dress, he didn’t enjoy the shiver his ministrations caused on her, or the blush that crept over her face.  Gold’s interaction with Ariel didn’t go unnoticed by Belle, who for the first time in a long time felt jealous of something. She was used to seeing girls throw themselves all over Killian and him openly flirting with them, but she hadn’t got jealous of that, not even once. And here she was getting jealous of this girl playing cosy with a man who wasn’t Belle’s fiancé, and she knew why. Because it didn’t matter how many years had passed, it didn’t matter how much she had tried to move on and remake her life, she was still in love with Sinclair Gold, a man who probably hated her, and with reason.

Gold for his part was still running his hand over Ariel’s back, gaining no reaction from his body whatsoever. He was trying to think of a way to put Belle away from his mind for the rest of the evening when he heard what Jefferson had said.

“What do you mean I’m going to make a record with him?”

“Well I- We thought,” Jefferson quickly amend his wording at Victor’s cough, “that it would look good if you were to make a new record in your old home.”

“That would be Scotland, wouldn’t it?”

“Technically yes, but since it didn’t do you much good we were thinking that the next best thing was this little town which you used to reside in.”

Gold tried, really tried to keep his next words inside his mouth. He had at least been able to keep his eyes on Jefferson and not in his real target, the reason of his bitterness towards the town.  “Well this town didn’t make me much good either. “

Sinclair had thought he was over her, that years of drinking and easy women had worked. He really hadn’t thought much about her, with the exception of what used to be special dates or when he saw someone who looked liked her. He had tried his best to forget her, damn, he had even tried hypnosis once, in the early days when the wound was fresh.  All of his hard work had come crumbling down the minute he saw those blue eyes again. The scar had reopened, and all of his pain came back. Knowing that she had remade her life and was now happily engaged not only served to make things worse, because with pain came anger and with anger came the wish to lash out. He knew that whatever he did or say wouldn’t have effect on her: she obviously hadn’t care about him ten years ago, why in God’s name would she care now?

He still felt the need to strike back though, and so he did. But instead of screams and throwing things, he used words. Words, along with his music, had been the only constants in Gold’s life, the only thing that had never failed him. Words could be done up, made to look prettier than they were. Words were lies -not just black and white, but green- and they were always just, at their core, a subtle form of manipulation. A way of eliciting the response you desire from the person you're saying them to. There was a safety in words, they could protect and hurt and allow you to remain distant if you so wished to be, and he seemed to know how to control them, had a knack for them. He understood the power of the right words; how to twist their purpose if needed or when to simply take them as is.

“Umm... Well Jefferson and I already made all the business part of the record, all you really have to do is go to Killian’s studio and record it.” Victor spoke up, contrary to Jefferson he liked to be forward with a subject and let everybody know if something had been decided: that was the reason Gold had kept him as a manager, and he was seriously regretting that decision now. “You should at least try Sinclair, it will be good publicity for the new album.”

In the future Sinclair would ask himself what made him accept, or rather comply, with the idea that his managers had presented. But for the time being he was just looking for a way to get as far from Belle as he could, he needed to breathe and maybe, just maybe, enjoy what was left of the night with the girl standing next to him. 

“Very well, you win Victor. I’ll go check out _Killian’s_ studio in the morning.”  If anyone noticed how Gold said Killian’s name like it was a disgusting thing, no one said a thing. “Now if you’ll excuse me I would love to show Ariel how lovely the view is from my balcony at the hotel. “

He gave a nod in the group’s general direction, eyes purposely not meeting Belle’s, and left the room with Ariel.

Had Gold delayed his departure for a couple of seconds he would have seen that Belle’s eyes were full of emotions, like jealousy or pain, but most of all, they were full with regret.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the end Gold had taken Ariel back to her house (He hadn’t been able to put Belle out of his mind for more than two seconds)

Now he stood on his balcony with a cigarette in his right hand and a glass of scotch in the other, his minds going over and over again through the events of the night, and the events that had lead him away from Storybrooke ten years ago. Eyes closed, he began to grip the glass of scotch tighter and tighter without noticing it. The smell of blood mixed with alcohol filled his nostrils as he opened his eyes , glancing down he realized that the glass he had been holding was now shattered and his hand was covered with blood.

So far gone was Gold in his state of drunkenness that he didn’t feel any pain as he cleaned his hand free from blood and glass, once he was done he took a glance at the mirror and felt disgusted with what he saw. What kind of fifty-two year old man got drunk over a past love, no matter how wonderful it had been, and wonderful it had been. But now? Now he could only feel the ferocious, unforgiving pain, ripping at his insides like a knife. Pain _she_ had caused ten years ago, and that still haunted him like one of Scrooge’s ghosts.

In a sudden fit of rage Gold grabbed his cane at smash it against the mirror, liking the feeling his action gave him he stated to smash his cane against every surface in the bathroom and when that wasn’t enough he moved into the bedroom.

Thirty minutes later a passed out Sinclair Gold lay in the floor with a bleeding hand and a broken cane. 


End file.
